Conspiracy Theory #1: The government is trying to kill me

It has not escaped my attention that at a time of recession, people like me are a blight on the nation. I mean sick people - those of us who require costly treatments that weigh down the national debt and who don't contribute much by way of taxes.

When I say it has not escaped my attention, this is primarily because some who claim to love me and to be my friend call me names like "leech" and "parasite on society" and say things like "would you not just go quietly now and save us all a bit of money". With friends like these, etc, etc.

By my reckoning, if this has occurred to the knuckle-headed humans I hang out with, then it has to have occurred to at least one bitter and twisted junior civil servant at the Department of Finance. Thus my first conspiracy theory which I present here today. The government is trying to kill me.

My proof for this is a mixture of the circumstantial and the far-fetched, but I'm keeping notes on all strange happenings just in case I ever need to present myself at the European Court of Human Rights. Or in case I ever get my number one wish which is to appear on RTE's 'Would you Believe'.

I don't wish to document al those happenings at this point in case Big Brother is monitoring my blog, but here's one example taken from my diary last summer:

"June '09. Admitted to hospital to await surgery to implant catheter in tummy. Nurse meets me and tells me I have a whole ward to myself at the very end of Unit 1. Initial delight turns to suspicion. You never get a ward to yourself. You always have to make like a sardine and cram yourself in beside Granny Bonkers and Great Aunt Lunatic.

It soon becomes clear that they want me isolated. They have a so-called "high security" male patient in the unit also.

4.20am Awake to find mental man standing in the middle of my ward. I scream. The guard who is meant to be minding him shuffles in and apologises. Inspection of room in the morning reveals a strange substance spilled all over the floor. Anthrax?

Day two. Wander to TV room for some light entertainment. Mental man enters, accompanied by nurses' aide. He is writhing around and suddenly lurches towards me in an attack. Were it not for my being so nimble and gazelle-like in my motions, it could have got ugly.

I resign myself to steering clear of the TV room, sleeping with one eye open and telling all lies necessary about how I am feeling in order to secure my discharge.

Suspect said patient was an agent of the government, sent to knock me off. They do not want another dialysis patient in the country. Must avoid admission to hospital at all costs and ensure when time for transplant comes that I am accompanied at all times. Preferably by an ex-army type or someone trained in the use of pepper spray and high voltage stun guns".